


The Law of Averages

by HeavenlyKukuru



Series: Altered Paradigms / Chaos and Aether Sides [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Character Study, Developing Friendships, Exposition, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29695353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenlyKukuru/pseuds/HeavenlyKukuru
Summary: The first meeting of my Warrior of Light Coco and her retainer-to-be, from that very woman's perspective.
Series: Altered Paradigms / Chaos and Aether Sides [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2182278
Kudos: 2





	The Law of Averages

» Thanalan – In the city of Ul'dah : Windsday 11th Fifth Umbral, 1 7AE «

Dawn Lotus is a woman renowned for her patience, even at the most challenging of times. Right now though, having to endure this mind-numbingly stupid conversation that seems to loop on forever, she can feel cracks splintering throughout her sanity.

It's particularly hot and dusty today, even by Ul'dahn standards, and she's seated at a window table in the most unoriginally-named bar a desert city could hope for. Squeezed in amongst raw material outlets one level up from Ul'dah's famous souks, The Oasis is a hidden gem of a place. With a quiet ambiance and reserved clientele, it makes for a perfect venue for intimate gatherings and Pipima Pima's excellent after-dark cocktails are just the icing on its proverbial cake. Although, Dawn may as well be sipping raw lemon juice right now for all the pleasure she's getting from the man sitting across from her.

A dark-set and ruggedly handsome adventurer of no small repute, the Midlander is slouched back on his cushioned wooden seat nursing the same flagon of aquasol he'd arrived at the table with. Funny how some people are so tight and conversely loose with money depending on the context, though he'd been rambling on far too much to drink anything either way. When Dawn's client pauses for breath after one particularly long tirade, she interjects with as much temperance as she can muster.

“Sweetheart, once again, I appreciate what you're trying to tell me and I get that adventuring is tough, but if you buy that sword you're even more flat broke. As it stands you're already in debt with Forgemaster Pruin to the tune of around three million gil.”

The Midlander looks at her after swallowing a mouthful of drink, his brow furrowed into an angry scowl. “Did you not listen, woman? I'm getting paid soon so that will cover the new blade. It's made of that new material and I need it.”

“Right. That sack of coin is already promised to several other establishments you're indebted to. I would suggest that you– “

“Wait, I think I understand what you're trying to say.” The adventurer's interruption accompanies the stare of flint-cold eyes aimed straight at Dawn, accusatory by themselves without the sudden flash of steel from his belt knife. He stabs the blade's tip into the table with deliberate force and leans forward, glaring. “You're telling me you messed up. Now I don't have a gil to my name. And,” he pauses to twist the knife around threateningly, “I'm telling you that you'd better sort it out. Quickly.”

Dawn, a rather tall and imposing Roegadyn woman herself, almost laughs out loud. Here is a man who spends astronomically beyond his earning potential – on temporary woman, on weapons to replace weapons and on ridiculous outfits made of Far Eastern silk and endangered animal leather – and he actually has the audacity to blame her for mishandling his finances. It's not like she hadn't warned him every time they'd met for a review, nor in any of the letters she'd had mailed to his exquisitely decorated love nest in the Goblet. Oh no, this isn't her fault and she's tired of sweeping up after this fool, gods be damned. A line had to be drawn somewhere and he'd just leaped over it with that little barb.

Debt in a ruthless city like Ul'dah is a very unsavoury prospect and dancing around it is akin to flirting with fire. Renege on a deal or fall short on payments here and moneylenders aren't interested in second chances. Most of them will repossess the debt in blood if required, be it personal or familial – they don't discriminate as to the source. There's a reason why the realm-famous Coliseum is always fully stocked with fresh meat for its gladiatorial matches and Dawn is expecting to see this particular client's name up on the billing some time soon. He may even last a few days, as deft as he is with those stupidly expensive swords.

“I can do better than sorting it quickly, sweetheart,” the Roegadyn says as she leafs through her portfolio for the desired document and finds it, hastily scribbling an addendum onto the bottom. She double-checks the edit and spins the sheet around to face the adventurer, holding out a pen for him to take. That cold and threatening stare levelled straight at her is reflected back during the stand-off where neither participant moves. Calm and commanding, Dawn intones, “Sign this.”  


The adventurer's eyes flick to the document and then back onto Dawn. He seems to be weighing up his options. A dry crackle of splintering wood only adds to the tension as he twists the knife distractedly, keeping up the ante of intimidation.

“What's it say?” he demands in a flat voice. Of course he's too arrogant to actually read it himself and Dawn had betted on this outcome. She controls the urge to smile and spoil the ruse.

“It says,” she pauses for effect, “That I won't charge you a fee for this month's services and that we're done. No more contract.”

Seemingly satisfied at that, the man takes the pen and scrawls his name across the dotted line. Just to flex a little authoritarian muscle, he tosses the writing implement onto the table and slouches back onto the chair as his expression slides into a sneer.

“So. Where's my apology?”

Again, Dawn has to hold back a laugh at his ridiculous ego and she instead channels the mummers she'd seen on stage last night, putting on the most enthusiastically sincere expression she can manage. “Oh, I am sorry,” she tells him and silently appends in her mind, _Sorry that you're such an idiot. They say karma's a bitch and I'm sure you'll find out soon enough, pretty boy._

Making a show of sorting her paperwork and reclaiming the pen, Dawn hopes that when she next looks up the man will be out of sight and thus mind, but the adventurer is still seated across from her, glowering. He leans forward slowly and wraps his fingers around the belt knife lodged in the table's wooden veneer. The threat had been laughable since its inception because Dawn's father had taught her well; a tough-as-nails Hellsguard mountain man, Red Bison had been a bare-knuckle fighter before he'd become a gemsmith and his daughter had learned how to knock someone flat out before they even had chance to react.

“Right. Well, I have things to do. Eorzea needs me as always so I'll be going now.” The adventurer rises up from the chair and then downs the entire contents of his flagon in one swig to show just how tough he is. “You got off real easy and don't think I'll be singing your praises to my adventuring friends, woman. You ain't worth it and you've brought me nothing but grief.“

This time Dawn does laugh, especially because she knows what he'd inadvertently signed his name away to. If only he knew, but that would take the sport out of the whole debacle. “By all means, save us lesser folk from the big nasty monsters out there. I'm grateful and also very busy, so off you go now.”

The very last glimpse she sees of that man are his broad – and admittedly well-sculpted – shoulders as he strides away with all the affected decorum of a prideful lion. It's almost a shame that same lion would waltz right into trouble and end up caged somewhere, battered and bloodied and someone's Coliseum pet. Almost a shame, not quite.

Some time later when she's had a chance to cool off, Dawn is lost in the pages of Savannah Stoneheart's latest romance novel and absently sipping on an iced tea garnished with orange. The previous novel in the series – “Till She Swallows All” – had been particularly filthy and Dawn had rapaciously consumed that entire thing, cover to cover, in one single session. This book lacks a certain something though. Perhaps the next novel will be better but “Scorched Inside” is still enjoyable, albeit tamer than a domesticated coeurl kitten compared to its predecessor.

Dawn rests her chin on her propped-up palm and sighs, gazing out of the window to her left. Sitting far away on the horizon are the stacked sandstone sierra of Thanalan's expansive deserts; deep ochres to light sandy browns dominating a large proportion of the colour scheme here. Directly below the window, merchants tend their stalls and presumably weave whatever mystical tales to sell unsuspecting passers-by their wares. The day before last Dawn had heard one such self-proclaimed minstrel extolling plain orange juice as the next miracle cure. His ten thousand gil price tag on each bottle had been outrageous, of course, but here in Ul'dah knowledge is almost as prized as physical wealth, and a little goes a long way.

As Dawn is about to sink back into her romance novel, a figure catches her eye: a Wildwood Elezen woman. Hanging from her hip is a sword of the most unusual make and colour: shimmering metallic blue-green and a slim, arrow-straight blade topped with a serpentine crossguard. The grip is some kind of wrapped blue leather that reminds Dawn of the striped raptors found in cooler climates. A shield of similar make is hitched onto the woman's back. She looks lost, cautiously glancing around the bar.

 _Another adventurer else I'm losing my touch_ , Dawn thinks whilst sipping the final mouthful of iced tea. _Paladin or gladiator? She ain't like that last idiot I played retainer for and she damned sure ain't from round here. Forest girl I'll bet, judging by the way she's sweating buckets. Lovely long red hair though. Who or what is she looking for?_

The Elezen woman exchanges words with Rizzo at the bar and then sits down at the table directly across from the one occupied by Dawn, quietly and with a nervous sort of awareness. She settles the shield and sword onto a spare chair, pulls out a bound leather notepad and begins to scribble. Or sketch. It's difficult to see at this angle. Ul'dah's baking heat clearly isn't within this lady's comfort zone and she looks like she's about to melt unceremoniously onto the furniture.

Dawn looks on amused, because she normally doesn't see this sort in The Oasis. It's ordinarily rich people's servants and well-heeled foreign merchants choosing to take a break here, not lost-looking adventurers. Observing a person's movements can tell you a great deal about them, should you know how to look, and can be a very useful skill in a city like this. It had opened a lot of doors for Dawn over the years – both literal and figurative – and she wants to test that theory right now. She watches and waits.

When the Elezen finally catches her scrutinising gaze, Dawn is fairly confident she has the measure of this lady knight but some confirmation couldn't hurt. An initial look of surprise on the woman's face flattens into a guarded countenance, one eyebrow cocked higher. Defensive, just like a paladin.

“Can I … help you?” the Elezen says, her voice soft and urbane. There's a hint of caution in her eyes.

 _That accent_ , Dawn wonders at before replying. _Where have I heard that before? She's most definitely not local and that ain't a forest lilt._ “You look lost, sweetheart, and very much bothered by the heat. May I join you for some friendly conversation?”

An ever-so-slight smile on the woman's lips and then she pauses before replying. “Please. You're most welcome to.”

“You're an artist?” Dawn asks casually a short while later when she's seated at the table. An unfinished drawing of Thanalan's mountain peaks lies upon the sketchbook's pages, presumably the Elezen's view from outside the window. Spread out neatly atop the table is a selection of fine charcoal and lead pencils. Dawn knows from past experience those kinds of art supplies aren't cheap and must have been made professionally, so this is no ordinary swordswoman that had wandered into The Oasis.

“Oh, no. I just like to draw,” the Elezen says, looking somewhat abashed. “I travel a lot so this is how I record what I've seen.”

“Must be an adventurer if you travel around then. You don't look like a merchant,” Dawn ventures, pointedly glancing at the sword and shield nearby, which are even more impressive close up. She receives a nod in response. “Well I'm Dawn Lotus, financier and accountant, daughter of a florist to the sultana and one of Ul'dah's finest gemsmiths. Pleased to meet you.”

The woman smiles. It's both charming and demure. “That's quite an introduction. I'm Coco, free paladin and adventurer, daughter of two scholars, neither of whom I saw much of growing up. And I'm pleased to meet you too.”

At that point the penny drops in Dawn's mind. “Ah, you're Sharlayan!” Another nod. “Not used to this desert heat then I take it?”

Coco shakes her head slowly and almost thoughtfully then scowls. “By the gods, how do you manage to live in such a place? There's nowhere to hide from it.”  


She picks up a napkin from the holder on the tabletop and wipes her brow, sighing exhaustedly. Dawn chuckles. That outburst had been both unexpected and telling; another little glimpse at the Elezen's true character underneath that guarded nature. Some friendly advice could earn a bit of trust here.

“Wear simple linen clothes. They have good airflow, are cheap and versatile. Drink citrus water for hydration. Take it easy and pace yourself. Life in the desert is a lot easier when you know the basics.”

Dawn then beckons Rizzo – the attractive blond bartender she'd spent several energetic nights with – over to the table. He'd been glancing over at the two women in surreptitious fashion for the past five minutes. Obviously, they must look like chalk and cheese to him; a fair-skinned Wildwood paladin with hair like tempered fire and a rough-edged Roegadyn woman with the colour and disposition of shifting desert sands. She hopes it isn't jealousy; a most unattractive quality in men that is, and the ruination of many a carefree fling. Now that would be a shame because Rizzo had been great in bed.

“Be a darling and fetch us a pitcher of iced lemon water, two glasses and– “ Dawn looks over at Coco, who is once again using the table's napkins to desperately mop up rivers of sweat. She makes a quick educated guess at flavours based on what she'd learned so far. “A tray of peppermint lassi and some fruit nibbles. Put it on my tab.”

Not long after, when most of that lemon water had already disappeared down the Elezen's gullet, Dawn is leafing slowly through the sketchbook. She had seen drawings like this in various art shows around the city, usually selling for a good amount of coin and always in demand by the moneyed citizens living on the upper tiers. To them, unique collection pieces that no-one else can own are accolades to be lauded over others' heads with as much pretension as possible; doubly so if that artist should become in vogue and even more popular. Such is the Ul'dahn game of pomp and politics.

A lover of finance in another way entirely, Dawn has ample savings and investments to recall should she need funds but simply doesn't have to: money comes easily. To this Roegadyn woman the excitement is in hedging bets, seeing which investments will play out and whether she can get ahead of the curve on new markets. She isn't interested in how much she could amass; rather, the myriad ways in which she could succeed in doing so. That's way more exciting than sitting in a room filled with gold coins and having parties just to show your neighbours how close to the ceiling you can stack them.

The odious but attractive adventurer she'd met with earlier had been one such experiment. On a superficial level he'd been great at what he does – slaying monsters, filling the concubines' coin purses, making the commonfolk feel safe and keeping smithies' forges hot – but he'd also been a financial liability. Dawn had been careful not to put any capital into him that she didn't mind losing and had ultimately lost it all. Her one saving grace is that contract she'd had him sign at the closure: safeguarding her reputation by having him agree to accept all of that responsibility onto himself. She'd tried to rein him in and failed, many a time.

And then there's this Elezen – an unexpected amalgamation of scholar and swordswoman with a knack for drawing. Dawn doesn't know what to make of her financially and is simply content to watch for now. This could be an interesting expenditure, she ponders and once again starts to feel that rush of pre-excitement that comes with a new business venture.

“What is this?” Coco eventually asks, staring down into the glass of pale green-flecked liquid before her. She'd eaten all of the fruit slices and drank all of the water, so now had turned her attention towards the last remaining foodstuff on the table.

“It's called 'lassi' and it's chilled goat's milk yoghurt,” Dawn answers, glancing up from the sketchbook. “That one's peppermint but they come in all flavours. Pineapple, orange, lingonberry, cardamom. You name it, some bar in this city will mix it. And these drawings are lovely sweetheart. You ever thought of selling them?”  


The only noise Dawn hears is a grunt of quiet contentment, not enough to distract her from a beautifully detailed drawing of a chocobo dressed in some kind of leather barding. A tantalising thought occurs. She wonders how much the rich folk would pay for personalised drawings of their own chocobos, reputed to be of such fine stock they command prices upwards of a million per buck. Yes, this seems like it would be a very good investment indeed.

When no answer is forthcoming, the Roegadyn looks up see one glass of lassi abandoned and drained dry with the other tilted up and pressed to Coco's lips. Dawn laughs, endlessly amused at such a slender woman having made all of the table's food and drink disappear within a half bell. Perhaps these adventuring types have a higher need for nourishment than most.

“These are really good,” Coco murmurs and swirls the last remaining measure around in the glass before downing it. “Can we get– I mean, do you mind if I order some more, please? And no, I hadn't. I don't need the money and those drawings mean more to me than some frivolous coin.”

“You don't say,” Dawn wonders out loud, feeling a touch suspicious now. “Are you sure you're an adventurer?”

She glances around the bar, concerned this could be some kind of ruse, but there's only the two of them and Rizzo in here. Could it be that ex-client trying to stitch her up? They're both adventurers, after all. This Elezen knight is beginning to sound too good to be true and those things usually are in Dawn's experience. Only a fool leaps head-first into such glaringly shiny traps.

“I'm fairly certain. My adventurer's ID says so and you did see the sword and shield, no?”

“I did. Next question. Should I visit your apartment, I wouldn't happen to find gold bars and coins, precious jewels and treasures just piled upon the floor now, would I? I've heard this is what some adventurers like to decorate their homes with.”

“Heavens no!” Coco smiles and then slides a theatrical glance across the room before continuing on in a whisper. “I keep all of that hidden in a chest in my basement. Don't tell anyone.”

“Rizzo!” Dawn yells, not taking her eyes off the Elezen in case she disappears into a puff of magical smoke, “Four more lassi. Pick the flavours yourself and get that cute backside over here sharpish.”

Coco's own eyes, a deep dark emeraldine hue, widen at that outburst and she asks quietly, “How much do I owe you?”

Folding her arms across her chest and leaning back on the chair, Dawn is feeling something akin to starstruck wonder. She knows people, how they work and operate and do business in this city – but has little idea of the outside world. Maybe another adventurer client could take her there, seeing the sights and meeting all kinds of fascinating people. The things she could learn! With the whole world as an opportunity to be seized she could extend into all sorts of businesses. Her mind whirls at speed.

She tells Coco with an absent-minded wave she owes nothing, to which the Elezen counters that nothing in life is ever truly free, so what would Dawn like in return.

“Answers to questions,” the Roegadyn murmurs, catching Coco's patiently waiting gaze and holding it. “Many questions.”

Another hour and four empty glasses of lassi later, a piece of parchment rests on the tabletop in front of Coco. She's reading it through carefully, checking to make sure she understands certain parts thoroughly and giving input where she feels it's needed. Convinced of Coco's authenticity after an intensive interview, Dawn had drawn up a second contract with herself as retainer to manage the Elezen adventurer's finances, find her work periodically and some other small tasks to be worked out at a later times. There is no way in any of the seven hells the Roegadyn is letting this profitable little fish escape her grasp.

“You're really going to read all of that?” she asks, taking in Coco's elegance and straight-backed posture with some measure of admiration. Dawn would love to see this woman fight, because not even she could predict the outcome. She wonders if the Elezen would knock that egotistical ex-client of hers onto his arse and how quickly it would happen. “I can assure you that I'm not trying to cheat or swindle you out of anything. Swear to it on my mother's life. This is a fair and equitable arrangement.”

“Yes. Why shouldn't I read it?” Coco looks up from the contract. Her eyes level that question again. “Grandfather taught me that one of the most important things a person owns is their name. I should know what I'm signing it away for and to whom, no?”

Dawn looks at her with mild surprise because not once in all of her years had she heard that from a client. Maybe there's something to be said for these scholarly types after all, or perhaps she's about to discover that she's way out of her depth.

“And yet you offered me your name very quickly,” she counters in a careful voice.

“Not before you'd given me yours and your own background, Dawn Lotus. Financier and accountant, daughter of the sultana's florist and one of Ul'dah's finest gemsmiths, if I recall.” That knowing little smile of Coco's at the end had pretty much sealed the deal right there. “You could have been lying of course, but you have much better ways to spend your time, I'd imagine.”

 _Clever little bugger, ain't you!_ Dawn beams with an almost maternal pride at that, reassured as ever she's made the right investment – and not just one of financial gain. There could be the making of a friendship and trust to be gained here, given time. It just needs to be carefully cultivated and cared for like any desert rose and then there's no guessing as to which farthest corners of the world it would grow into.

**Author's Note:**

> This side-story came about as an exercise for both getting me back into a proper writing frame of mind, and also building upon the characters in my series. It's not my best work and I find it hard to post *anything* I write online, but I'll never get anywhere near my dream if I don't.
> 
> Part of a series of sides to the much longer piece I am planning to write. Let's hope I can actually finish it!
> 
> PS. My Warrior of Light is not **THE** Warrior of Light.


End file.
